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CROHOORE-Ni-BILLHOOK. 



PRICE, 25 CENTS. 






"Ninety-Eight 



77 



OR THE 



JL POEM 

OF 

REAL IRISH MANUFACTURE, 

"CROHOORE HA BILLHOOK," 




OF CROAKER'S HILL. 



THE MEANS BY WHICH OLD NICK, BILLY PITT HIS 
PRIME MINISTER, AND LORD CASTLEftEA 
HIS IRISH CHIEF SECRETARY, CARRIED 
THE HELL-FIRE UNION. 

1- 

" On our side is virtue anttErin, -, T & ~y 9 ? y^y 
On theirs is the Saxon and guilt." 

Tom Moore. 




BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY HUMPHREY H. SULLIVAN. 

1882. 



V 



V* 



u 



Copyright, 

1882, 

By Humphrey H. Sullivan. 



Stereotyped by n. C. Wiiitcomb & Co. 
22 Milk Street, Boston, Mass. 



PREFACE. 

There is no nation in the world, small or large, 
whose history for the last seven centuries, is so re- 
plete with deeds of rapine and slaughter commit- 
ted by an alien government, as that of the Irish 
nation. Almost every generation there, saw inno- 
cent human beings butchered in their gore, by the 
minions of the English government, and done in 
the name of law. The same dark deeds would 
have been witnessed to-day, among the Irish 
people only for the English government fearing 
public condemnation, because every thing that 
transpires now, is carried immediately to the most 
remote quarters of the globe, either through 
electric wires, or on the wings of the press. 

The most gory of those atrocities perpetrated 
within the last century, in Ireland, is that of 1798, 
of which the following Poem contains a full pen- 
picture. This poem was published in book form 
in Dublin in 1841, and it pictured those deeds of 
'98, so fully, and lashed the tools of the English 
government in Ireland, so severely, that on its 
first appearance, the little book was seized and 
confiscated, and it was sure "transportation " for 
any Irishman in whose house a copy thereof would 
be found afterwards ; and if " poor Crohoore," 
the author were known, he would pay for all. 



It is said that Crohoore na Billhook, the author, 
was a noted Irish gentleman, who flourished in the 
time of the Repeal agitation in Ireland, and this 
book being titled the Repealer's Horn-Book, it 
was dedicated to Daniel O'Connell, the great 
agitator for the Repeal of the Union in those da)s. 

Crohoore in his Horn-Book, refers to the Irish 
Nation, under Grattan's Parliament, as marching 
rapidly on the path of prosperity, until noticed by 
the jealous eye of Johnny Bull, who employed 
Pitt and Castlereagh, to bring about the Union in 
1800; and states that the troubles of '98 were 
fomented by the English government, in order 
that they could the more easily rob Ireland of her 
native Parliament, and pass the "Act of Union." 
He represents those two government officials, 
Pitt and Castlereagh, as having formed an alliance 
with old " Nick," so as to accomplish their object, 
and as having descended, after death, into the in- 
fernal regions, where they met their old ally, Nick, 
who procured for them the best accommodation he 
had, and after a course of flailing at his hands, 
appointed Pitt his Prime Minister, and Castlereagh 
his Secretary of State. 

The number of copies of the Repealer's Horn- 
Book, which escaped the devastating hands of the 
English government, in Ireland, was but very few, 
so that, in reality, this American edition may be 
considered the first regular publication of the 
work. It is somewhat in the same strain as the 
" Hudibras," except that, in the Horn-Book, the 






author is more personal ; and as it fully describes 
the atrocities of the soldiery in Ireland, in '98, and 
the hellish plottings of Pitt, Castlereagh, and their 
satelites, to rob the Irish nation of its native Par- 
liament, should be in the hands, not only of every 
individual of the Irish race, but also, all lovers of 
justice, in order to be able to form any correct 
estimate of the misgovernment of Ireland, under 
English misrule. 



DEDICATION 

TO 

DAN O'CONNELL, Esq., M. P. 

Dear Dan, to you with love, I look, 
And dedicate this Horn-Book ; 
And, though its trifling, to be sure, 
Accept it, still, from poor Crohoor. 

Its object is to shew, in verse, 
The Union is the D — l's curse, 
And that old Orana's commonweal 
Can be advanc'd but by Repeal. 

Dear Dan, as nothing can provoke 
Great villains more than spicy joke ; 
And as the magic of the Muse 
Alone can give the Deels their dues, 
The late Reports, made to the nation 
By your Appeal Association, 
I, here, will merrily, rehearse, 
In short, sweet Hudibrastic verse 
And, though Crohoor is but an Ass. 
To Butter or his Hudibras, 
He. still, has one recommendation 
To all the boys of Paddy's nation — 
That this farce and its tight young actor 
Are both of Irish manufacture. 
So as its th' order of the day 
To encourage such, in every way, 



IV. 

I hope this little specimen 
Come from a native young bard's pen 
Will meet the favour — (its no cut) — 
Of ever great " Professor Butt." 

So then Dear Dan, this little thing 
(To rogues a fiery Scorpion's sting) — 
I offer for old Ireland's weal, 
And for the cause of sweet Repeal. 
'Twill make the boys, perhaps, to smile — 
'Twill give instruction all the while — 
'Twill gall some Union Tory foes 
And sting Lord Stanley in the nose, — 
Aye — may be, much more so than prose. 
So while he's brooding o'er his bill, 
Dull care and time we'll try to kill; 
And, may be, 'twould not be for ill luck 
That Crohoore cuts them with his Billhook. 

Besides, dear Dan, our Isle of yore 
Was fam'd for Bards and songs Galore ; 
And once within old Tara's walls, 
The bards were seated in the Halls, 
To abuse and praise, there, in rotation, 
The foes and heroes of the nation. 
And why not bards of our own days 
Sing for the Nation's good some lays, 
And put their shoulders to the wheel 
To move the chariot of Repeal ? 
The Painters, Dan, and best Musicians — 
The Churchmen, Lawyers and Physicians — 
In short each Trade, Profession, Art, 
In sweet Repeal now takes a part; 



And shall we, Poets, then refuse 

To aid it with old Erin's Muse ? 

No, no, we Bards, in love's communion, 

Will sing the curses of the Union — 

We'll all be up to paint, in style, 

This hell-fire curse of our Green Isle ; 

And as Crohoore began the song 

We'll have five hundred Bards ere long 

To sing — "down Union — up Repeal" 

And " slaunta lath, sweet Granauile" 

So, Dan, my honey, now to you 

I bid a hearty, warm adieu, 

And ever will remain, I'm sure, 

Your u friend and pitcher " poor Crohoor. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The glorious progress Ireland made, 
In wealth and power, by Free Trade. 
The palmy state to which she grew, 
From that bright era Eighty-Two : 
The envy of the proud John Bull, 
At Pat's growing rich and powerful : 
The Saxon's trick of devilment 
To take away our Parliament : 
The plans of that keen hell-born wit, 
And prince of rogues, call'd Billy Pit ; 
Th' infernal pranks, in every way, 
Of Ireland's cut throat, Castlereagh ; 
And how that pretty boy, Old Nick, 
Did plan with them the Union trick ; 
The perj'ry, brib'ry and the blood 
That swept through Ireland, like a flood; 
And how they carry'd that d— n measure, 
Against the nation's will and pleasure : 
Some very handsome hints of note 
'Bout how a Lord may cut his throat : 
How little twopenny butter-blades 
May send great statesmen to the shades : 
The warm welcome, people say, 
Nick had for Pitt and Castlereagh : 
Sing, oh, thou Muse of Sueve na Man ! 
And shew poor Pat a bit of fun ; 
For even fun may move the wheel 
And stir the boys about Repeal. 



8 



Poor Paddy ! as the times are bad 
Let us be merry and not sad ; 
And let us trace, in jolly verse, 
The blood-stained Union, Ireland's curse — 
That hell-fire plan of Saxon foes — 
The fount of all our present woes. 

The Reports of Dan's Association 
I'll sing here in complete rotation, 
And let these facts and curious things 
Fly round upon the muse's wings ; 
So that the very school-boy wags 
Can trace the Union for th' old hags, 
And prove it, in the pow'rs of verse, 
To be so red and d — 'd a curse, 
That all th' old women who shall hear, 
Will bless and cross themselves with fear, 
I'll prove it bad, and bad galore 
As plain as two and two make four. 

'Twas Bessy's handy Reformation 
That " play'd the puck " with th' Irish nation, 
For, with its horrid grasping paws, 
And curst No-Popery penal laws, 
Poor Pat was sent (as was said well) 
To Connaught, or t' old Pluto's hell. 
This Reformation was, in th' end, 
To th' English a most sweet God-send ; 
For they set off, with this new trick, 
The Protestant 'gainst Catholic ; 
And, while they cut each other's throat, 
The Saxons stole the purse from both. 



Just like pickpockets at a fair, 

They rais'd a scuffle here and there, 

And cried out "Church" to make things worse 

And all to come at Paddy's purse. 

Dark centuries of dire oppression, 
With faggot, ball, aud sword aggression ; 
The shackles and restrictions laid 
On Ireland's commerce and her trade; 
The national antipathy 
Of sordid Saxon tyranny 
Went all together, hand in hand, 
To ruin Paddy's lovely land. 

The gentry all of Cromwell's get 
Got head and heels in heavy debt ; 
Their incomes small — th' incumbrance great — ■ 
Scarce left the deels the price of meat ; 
The trade was crush'd by English laws, 
The poor half-starved by that same cause ; 
The horrid trio, want of pence, 
Black famine, and blue pestilence, 
Danced hornpipes about the nation, 
And spread most shocking devastation. 

Such was the state, and worse by far, 
When that great row, th' American war, 
Rous'd Ireland from her death like sleep, 
And made her look a little deep 
'Bout taking, then, some speedy pains 
To burst the Saxon's galling chains. 



IO 



The French, besides, the sweet "true blue," 
Gave big John Bull enough to do; 
And John, being in the double squabble, 
Got in the centre of a hobble, 
When Pat tuck'd up and cried for fight, 
«Eg — g ; I now must have my right." 
John, dreading Frenchmen as the d — 1, 
Got, then, indeed, most tame and civil ; 
And, lest Pat "give him down the banks," 
He gave it "by the way of no thanks," 
The dread of Papists was so great 
In seventeen hundred and eighty-eight, 
That Parliament, not a la mode, 
Relaxed the bloody penal code, 
And granted, from intimidation, 
A trifle of Emancipation. 

The Irish nation, also made 
Great noise about its crippPd trade ; 
And, after scuffles for some years, 
The glorious Irish Volunteers 
Succeeded mighty well, in fine, 
In seventeen hundred and ninety-nine, 
T' extort Free Trade from big John Bull, 
With beef and passion, then brimful. 

On trade and commerce of our isle 
Prosperity did sweetly smile, 
Until the glorious eighty-two 
Brought on an era bright and new, 
By forcing from the Saxon crew 



II 



An independent Parliament, 
Despite of all their devilment. 

But, now, to shorten this narration, 
'Twas wonderful how th' Irish nation 
Did flourish from that glorious day 
Until the Union's cursed sway, 
In commerce and in manufacture — 
In agriculture, architecture — 
In every science, every art, 
That could both wealth and power impart, 
Did she improve, in that short time, 
Much more than any earthly clime. 

This golden age, now, by and by, 
Old England view'd with jealous eye, 
And saw that Erin, by her side, 
Was riv'lling British wealth and pride. 
This gall'd th' old Lady to the quick 
And made the jealous d — 1 sick; 
And in her anti-Irish spleen, 
She cast an eye at College Green, 
And said — "oh, that damn Parliament 
Its that that breeds all discontent 
And causes all this devilment. 
I must contrive, by schemes or strife 
T' extinguish it, or lose my life 
I'll bring it over, if I can, 
To London, here — (aye, that's my plan,) 
Where they can't budge, but at my beck, 
By larger numbers kept in check." 



12 



'Twas base and cruel jealousy 
Of Ireland's bright prosperity 
That first excited Saxon spleen 
Against the House in College Green. 
Old Ireland's growing strength and pride 
Stuck, like two thorns, in England's side — 
Vile envy, envy, that curst sin 
That first came up from Hell within 
And made the Devil (horrid vice !) 
First ruin man in Paradise. 
Oh, envy — monster, foul, unblest ! 
First born in the Devil's breast — 
In England nurs'd and now caress'd ! 

This fact a very sweet cock-trush, 
(Now styl'd the great Chief Justice Bushe) 
Did sing in notes (oh ! mighty big !) 
Before he wore the Judge's wig. 
His words are these (they're very nice 
When mix'd up with poetic spice) : — 
The Union is a "hell-born creature — 
Denial of the rights of nature 
To a great and loyal powerful nation 

By reason of her prosperous station 

Intolerance of Prosperity " 

His nicy words in verity. 

Thus sang this Anti-Union thrush 

Once from his Irish cozy bush. 

But what he'd call it, now, in French, 
In his snug Court of High Queen's Bench, 
'Tis not for Crohoore her to tell — 



13 

Repealers know it mighty well. 
'Tis wonderful how sweet-tongued hecks 
See things without big wigs and specks ; 
But, when they wear these trappings long, 
They see wrong wright and wright all long ! 
But, now, the order of the day 
Is just that of the Vicar of Bray, 
Who said (and may be he was right — . 
At least, in one most useful light — ,) 
"Whatever king will rule the day, Sir, 
Gog I'll be always Vicar of Bray, Sir. 

Though some had talked of it of yore, 
In seventeen hundred and ninety-four, 
The Union plot quite ripe did get 
In Billy PiWs deep Cabinet. 
This fact is proved, as people say, 
From documents of that same day. 

Now, all Prime Ministers are bad, 
But Billy was the d— l's lad— 
A d— n deep smooth designing fellow 
Well tinctur'd with the Orange yellow— 
A lad that could put on a face, 
Just like an Angel full of grace ; 
And under this, well play the knave, 
As if he had no soul to save — 
So deep in schemes and hellish wit 
That he was just, "Bottomless Pitt. ,} — 
A neater imp of Nick's communion 
Could not be sent to plan the Union, 
Now, Billy just to play the D— 1 



*4 

Pretended to be mighty civil ; 

And after, for conciliation, 

Lent Lord Fitzwilliam to the nation. 

The Union, then, was gently mooted, 
But Ireland at the thing all hooted, 
Till Lord Fitzwilliam went away, 
Recalled by schemes of Castlereagh. 

Lord Castlereagh, the Tories' joy, 
Was an Irish Northern Orange boy, 
In whose fine veins their ran a flood, 
Of real Beresford black blood- 
By nature he could noi be good. 
A bold, a reckless, blushless wight, 
Wh' 'swear right wrong, and wrong all right — 
Ambitious so that God's own grace — 
And God himself he'd sell for place--- 
A fellow who to spite a priest 
Would crucify aye— Jesus Christ— 
A man who deem'd it gospel good 
To gloat on seas of Papist's blood — 
A villain who'd at once, descend 
To monstrous crimes to gain an end. 

This fellow, by some clever hit, 
Scrap'd some acquaintance with Bill Pitt, 
And got to be, by Billy's prate, 
Th' Irish Secret'ry of state. 

The two twin D-- Is, in communion, 
Began to plan the cursed Union ; 
And both were pledg'd, by Heaven and Hell, 
To do the job, and do it well. 



i5 

One night, in Pitt's house as its said, 
When London folks were snug in bed, 
The two awlawns sat o'er a bowl, 
Bibbing champagne with flowers of soul, 
And planning in most deep communion, 
How they could carry th' Act of Union. 
There was some difference of opinion 
Between deep Billy and his minion — 
Bill was for peaceful schemes, for good — 
Lord C. for open force and blood. 
The one being cunning as a cat, 
Was straining nice at every knat ; 
The other, dauntless of such trammels, 
Was gulping down the hugest camels ; 
But each, in his own way, was bent 
T' extinguish th' Irish Parliament. 

Now, with his long attentive ears, 
" Old Nick " was list'ning to those seers ; 
And at the key-hole said — " By hell, 
The fellows reason mighty well ! 
But, still, a little hint or two 
From me, and, then, the job will do. 
As Paddy says, when Nick " th' ould fellow 
Had seen the " boughals purty mellow, 
He popp'd in neatly, as they say, 
Shook hands, and kiss'd Lord Castlereagh; 
And Nick of course, then, in a whit, 
Was introduced to Mr. Pitt. 
Nick, with a scrape and leering eye 
(Just a la mode of neat " Paul Pry,) 



i6 



Said in a brilliant interlude — 

" Gentl'men, I hope I don't intrude — 

" Oh, no — dear no ! " exclaimed the pair, 

"A thousand welcomes, oh, my dear ! 

We even want you badly here." 

"Indeed — indeed," then said the Devil, 

*: Oh, gentlemen, your mighty civil — 

And rest assur'd, another day 

Your kindness I shall well repay; 

And, if my hints would serve your ends, 

Your welcome to them now, my friends," 

Now with the gout of old Tom Paine, 
The three fell at the good champagne, 
And open'd, in most deep communion, 
Their various schemes about the Union. 
And, certainly, to brew bad weather 
Three bigger rogues ne'er met together. 

Nick, verily, did make a hit, 
By beating down the qualms of Pitt, 
And making him go all the way, 
In bloody schemes of Castlereagh. 

Pitt said in th' end — " For th' Irish nation 
My plan is keen conciliation, — 
It's better, safer, aye, by far, 
Than open fraud, or force or war ; 
For force would make them, each one knows, 
For ever after bitter foes. 
But promises made to the nation 
Of Catholic emancipation — 



*7 



Good place and pension to the others — 
Will make all parties loving brothers ; 
And thus will men of each communion 
Be all brought over to the Union." 

Says Castlereagh — " Once, aye, and more, 
Why, g — g you tried that plan before, 
And though you sent your feelers round, 
Few for the Union could be found. 
There is no plan, now, half so good 
As bribery, perjury, and blood — 
Blow up rebellion — crush it then — 
Send in some hundred thousand men — 
Put all the nation in great awe, 
By rigid, bloody, martial law — 
Cry out, the rebels of the nation 
Are bent for Ireland's separation, 

And that there is this being th' intent — 

No safety there for Parliament — 

Bribe, then, the members of each House, 

And all opponents out then chouse — 

This done — 'twill then be known and seen — 

You'll force it off from College-green." 

Nick, hearing this, said with delight, 
"What you say, sir, is very right. 
And now, I think, that any man 
Should be for your most d — d good plan. 
And, as to that conciliation, 
Its only laughed at by that nation. 
The spirit of French Revolution 
Is their against your constitution ; 



i8 



And' 'twont be hard, with coin and bullion, 

To kick up, then, a snug rebellion. 

The Irish boys are mighty frisky, 

And can be caught with bribes and whiskey ; 

And, if you just but let it on 

For eleven months, you'll see some fun. 

Plan in the North — set on again 

The Ribbon and United men — 

Let nice keen fellows be in pay, 

To swear them in on every day, 

And swear them you, good Castlereagh. 

Kick up the dust — -then shoot and rip, 

Hang up, transport, imprison and whip — . 

And, when the terrors of the law 
Will have the nation all in awe, 
Propose the Union for their good — 
They'll take it after so much blood. 
You can — indeed, good Mr. Pitt, 
Then make another clever hit — 
Pshaw ! bribe the Parliament with tact, 
To vote all for th' Union Act ; 
For, d — 1 a such a rotten set 
Of venal rogues I ever met — 
Their country and their souls they'd sell — 
Oh ! never fear — I know them well. 
Don't scruple, Sir, such things or scenes 
" For th' end doth sanctify the means." 
So say all holy, good Divines — 
It's plain as that the sun now shines. 
Again- -you serve, by such a thing, 



19 

Your God, your country and your king; 
And, by such good done for your nation, 
You'll surely work out your salvation. 
Oh ! lose no time — don't longer lurk — 
"A good beginning is half the work.— 
And I'll assist and set things right— 
We'll meet again- -gentl'men, good night." 

As Nick stole, sweetly, out the Hall 
With laughing did he nearly fall, 
While saying nicely in his sleeve 
" In God or Devil they don't believe — 
Two bigger rogues or deeper fellows, 
Eg — g I'm sure, ne'er got the gallows — 
So much the better— time will tell— 
I'll have jthe two yet snug in hell. 

"Well, now," said Pitt and Castlereagh 
" This is the right and proper way . 
And with the blessing of the Lord — 
Will act, at once, upon his word. 
To hot work, then, the trio went 
(Each head being full of devilment), 
To spread blue blazes through the nation, 
With fire and sword and desolation. 

As every preacher, unless vex'd, 
Will first begin and quote his text ; 
So I, too, now will here rehearse 
My text, my chapter, and my verse ; 
And here's my page of revelation — 
The Report of Dan's Association : 



20 



" The means by which the Union was carried were 
these : First, The spirit of revolutionary fury was en- 
couraged ! the rebellious disposition was actually. 
fostered, until it was made to explode ! ! and bitter re- 
ligious dissensions were promoted amongst all classes 
of the people ! ! ! " 

Report of the Committee of the National Association. 

These facts, now, many still alive 
Can well remember, if they strive — 
These facts are found, with days and dates, 
In all the Union's hot debates. 
Th' Irish Houses— Commons — Peers- 
Fought then about them " blood to th' ears : " 
And, during many long moon's phases, 
Each House was then " a house of blazes." 

The anti-Union, boys, they say, 
"Let out the murder" every day, 
And brought it home to Castlereagh ; 
And even he, and all his host, 
Of it did sometimes make a boast; 
"And who the d — 1, to be sure, 
Could know it better," says Crohoore. 

But here's the fact, and here's the brag, 
That let the cat clean from the bag— 
The Report of th' Irish House of Peers, 
As printed in those very years. 
'Twas printed, Paddy (mind the date), 
In bloody, hell fire ninety-eight, 
When rogues well knew the country's state. 



21 



According to this true Report, 
The " black North " first began the sport— 
'Twas, there the first d— n wisp was lit 
By imps of Castlereagh and Pitt 
Belfast the rendezvous was, then, 
Of all United Irishmen ; 
From this the clans of Semiarians, 
Of Protestants and Presbyterians, 
Had caught the flame, and, by deep tricks, 
Imparted it to Catholics ; 
'Twas in the " bottom of the North," 
Each officer of every sort, 
And Colonel made, each month, Report 
Of each and every regiment's state 
Of discipline and loyal hate. 
And to remove all stoitkawns' fears, 
Lads said, "boys! bushes have long ears — 
Take care— hush ; boys be true and wise 
For fear of them d— n Castle spies- 
Walk here upon your "tippy toes," 
And don't attempt to blow your nose." 
'Tis this pretended guard 'gainst spies 
That threw the dust in Popish eyes : 
And, thousands, there, were daily sworn 
By lads of Luther and Kate Boren, 
•While officers and all the rest 
Did take the same United Test. 
" To suffer each hand, ' Mor-o-ijah," 1 
NaiPd to the jail door of Armagh — * 

*It is remarkable that the blessed White feet had this very test or 
p ise word. Whitefootism, therefore, looks very like a i-quib from tho 
14 Black North." 



22 



To suffer death for one another 

Aye, sooner than betray a brother," 

Were two fair pass-words and sweet oaths 

Which Colonels, too, gulp'd down their throats. 

But privacy was in my eye, 

For one d— n Colonel was spy, 

Paid by the Royal Treasury. 

And, after every Colonel's Meeting, 

This D---1 sent a letter greeting 

To Government, and sold the pass 

On every dup'd United ass. 

A clever Colonel— to a hare, 

The cut of Colonel " Bruen the Bear,'' 

A gallant, able, well-met pair. 

This boughal, now, I am pretty sure, 

Is getting " thoughas," says Crohoore — 

He heads his regiment (that I know) 

In some hot quarters down below. 

And now, I wish him- -(not the both) 

The benefit of his own oath : 

That Usker, for that oath, may nail 

His paws to some infernal jail, 

And thrash him with his fiery flail 

With sweet " Boultawns" that ne'er will fail. 

Of Castlereagh, 'tis said by Teeling,* 
(A gentleman of truth and feeling) 
That, in disguise of meaner sort, 
He stood pot-houses in the North, 
And swore in many a fine fellow, 

* Teeling's Personal Narrative. 



2 3 

First making him a little mellow. 
Now, this, which Crohoore thinks is true, 
Is nought to what the lad could do: 
For Nick could not a job so handle, 
Nor hold for him a rush or candle. 
At all events, his well-paid spies 
Were hard at work, in nice disguise, 
With Argus's one hundred eyes. 

Now, mark the Irish Government 
At once could stop this devilment : 
But no — they let the fire run on 
Eleven Months, to see the fun : 
And all this, Paddy j (mind the sport) ; 
Is in the House of Lords' Report. 

Why did the bloody government 
Delay to check the discontent ? 
Ah, just because ; (oh ! see how true) 
They had this object nice in view ; 
This horrid object oh ! good God ! 
To give long rope and shed more blood ! ! ! 
And gain the union, oh, ramnation ! 
By wholesale carnage of the nation ; 
A handsome path to bright salvation ! ! ! 

Oh ! Heavens above ! shall I relate 
The scenes of bloody ninety-eight ? 
The shooting, hanging and the ripping ! 
Transporting, picketting and whipping ! 
The butchery of bad and good ! 
The orphans' and the widows' blood ! 



24 



The fire, the sword, the spoliation ! 

The spies, the hunts, the infuriation ! 

Courts martial and the mock of trial ! 

Of all protection the denial ! 

The beastly, hellish defloration 

Of Erin's daughters, through the nation, 

And then their horrid immolation ! ! 

The babes that savages would spare 

On bayonets lifted in the air ! 

The midnight slaughter and alarms 

The clang of blood-stained yeomen's arms; 

The peaceful villa's desolation ; 

The sanctuary's foul desecration, 

The daisy-vales, and hills so green 

All crimson from the Saxon's spleen ! 

The fairest isle— our lovely nation, 

In blood, in tears, in conflagration ; 

Dear Erin ! oh ! no tongue can tell 

The terrors of that curse from hell ; 

Of woes oh, Erin ! what a flood ! 

'Tis then you wept in streams of blood. 

Pitt in a fit of peaceful malice 
Sent over, then, Lord Cornwallis, 
To bring about, by moderation, 
All Ireland's full pacification, 
And force the union on the nation. 
The thief well saw (I mean Bill Pitt,) 
That that was th' hour to make the hit ; 
And then, he looked more smooth than rough, 
And said " I believe there's blood enoueh." 



25 

The lad he sent was up to trap : 
A mighty smooth and polished chap ; 
And, though he nicely play'd the friend, 
The Union, still, was just his end. 
Though some palaver about the lad, 
Frank Plowden thinks the man was bad, 
But, certainly, he was not mad. 
At all events, we can't, I'm sure 
Now make him better, says Crohoore. 
But, now, to mend this bloody matter, 
He gave some coaxing handsome chatter, 
And threw cold water on the blaze, 
And left the country much at ease. 

Now, when the row was dying fast, 
Out came the union plan at last; 
And with a very brilliant polish, 
It came from "good Lord Cornwallis." 
But now, as I'm not tir'd or vex'd 
Here goes it at another text : 

*• Secondly— The second means for carrying the Union 
were— "The deprivation of all legal protection to liberty 
or life— the familiar use of torture— the trials by Courts- 
Martial— the forcible suppression of public Meetings — 
the total stifling of public opinion— and the use of armed 
violence." — 1st Report of the Committee of the National 
uissociation. 

Now, mark the time the union plan 
Was moved, as is remarked by Dan — 
The Habeas Corpus was suspended — 
And no one's life by law defended ; 
The dread Courts martial at their whims. 



26 



Had power over lives and limbs; 
Most awful torture, every place, 
Was staring people in the face ; 
The jails were full; the scaffolds red 
With victims, may be dragg'd from bed ; 
The bullet, bayonet, rope and rack, 
Spread terror in their bloody-track, 
And hundred's, too, (there's no denial) 
Were shot or hang'd without a trial ; 
(And yet these bloody curst courts-martial 
Declared, indeed, they were too partial;) 
The people all left at the whims 
Of soldiers ; horrid devils limbs, 
Of English, Welsh, and Scotch accurst 
And Irish yeomanry the worst. 

The grim courts-martial also spread 
Among the people horrid dread 
Of any thing like fair petition 
Against the union proposition. 
And sometimes those big-whiskered rogues 
Did swear out in their native brogues, 
" God dom my oyes," you traitorish people ? 
We' oil hong you's hoy, Egod, as steeple, 
If you of dom Popish communion, 
Will ope your gobs against the Union." 

The legal meetings, all of course, 
Were hinder'd or dispers'd by force. 
In Maryborough and Clonmel, 
And many other towns as well, 
The red coats were in requisition 



2 7 



To slaughter those that dare petition, 

Or whisper any opposition. 

With this Court-martial grim dominion 

They stifl'd all public opinion ; 

And thus did they push on the measure 

Against the nation's will and pleasure. 

The once great Plunkett very well 

Did charge them with these crimes of hell 

But Crohoore has not will or time 

To put his pretty words in rhyme. 

He told the truth, then, like a clock ; 

He's now a fine old weather-cock. 

To run away with Parliament, 
By force without its own consent, 
Might rouse the vengeance of the nation, 
And lead, perhaps, to separation. 
For even then, the Orange faction 
Might jump like Devils at the action ; 
And, may be, kick up such a squabble 
As would put England in a hobble. 

The plan was, then, by bribes and pelf, 
To make it vote away itself, 
And, thus, commit a suicide ; 
The plan the rascals did not hide. 

None in the commons or the peers 
Except some rotten traitor seers : 
Some scamps who, as the people say, 
Were paid by Pitt and Castlereagh. 
No others spoke or voted, still, 
In favor of the Union Bill. 



28 



The plan of Pitt and Castlereagh : 
Was, now to bribe them th' other way 
And verily — the Heaven's be blest ! 
This hill-piece far beats out the rest ! ! 

Thirdly — "The Union was accomplished by the most 
open, base and profligate Corruption that ever yet 
stained the annals of any country," — Beport of the Na- 
tional Association. 

At all religion oh, such gibes ! 
Such horrid perjury and bribes ! 
Such brazen, hellish, vile corruption 
Ne'er brought a nation to destruction ! 
The basest Pagans would eschew it 
The Devil himself would blush to do it. 

The Irish Peerage first was made 
Their very market stock in trade ; 
And forty rascals were, by oaths, 
Dubb'd lords to give their Union votes. 
The Bishops, too, when full of negus, 
Played all the pranks of Simon Magus ; 
Each suffragan ran at the notion 
Of metropolitan promotion ; 
And twelve fat bishoprics, they say, 
Were bought or sold by Castlereagh ; 
And every Parson Union fighter 
Was sure to get a vacant mitre ; 
And owls who scarce could give communion 
Were thrust in sees to back the Union. 
The mitre fitted, says Crohoore, 



29 



Just as it fits a common wh — re ; 
For each sold virtue and his nation, 
Just with as little hesitation. 

The mitre-market 'mong "the fudges" 
Was nothing to the sale of judges ; 
For rascals, having heads like pigs, 
For Union-votes got judges wigs. 
Now one Chief Justice, eight small Judges, 
And Barons, all of Union grudges, 
Ascended and bedeviled with stench 
Pure justice's sweet snow-white bench. 

High posts in th' Army and the Navy. 
Where cheeks would swell with meat and gravy, 
Were offer'd daily (no disguise) 
For Union-votes, and got likewise, 
As were snug places in th' Excise. 
In short, all posts of place and pension 
Were offered with the same intention. 
Place-hunters, then, from all the nation 
Did crowd the Halls to suffocation, 
All ready, sure, to take the bait, 
And sell their souls and Church and state. 

The price paid for a union vote 
Is well known by their Market-note ; 
'Twas just this sum, oh, Pat my honey ! 
Eight thousand pounds in ready money ! ! 
A place or Post was, on the clear, 
Four thousand handsome pounds a year ! ! 
Some stupid fellows took but one 



3Q 



And let the other two alone; 
But, clever jockies, as there be, 
Won clean, at least, two out of three ; 
And some, the brightest boys of all, 
Got all three, nicely, at their call — 
Aye — -fellows got, with face most funny, 
The place, the post and ready money ! 
I could name twenty clever gibes 
Who came at these three Union bribes 
But names are dangerous, to be sure ; 
Its better hold your tongue Crohoore. 

Now, as great Grattan once did say 
The brazen rascal Castlereagh 
Said in the House — "among all tribes 
A half a million went in bribes, 
And that, at Pitt's own requisition, 
To break clown Union opposition." 
And said the lad most coolly, then 
We'll bribe and give as much again." 
And faith he did, I'm very sure, 
And twice as much, says sly Crohoore. 

The traitor, on his Bribery hobby 
Stood in the Parliament House Lobby, 
To know each Member's deep intention, 
And tempt him with a place and pension. 
His flying caitiffs, at his feet, 
Met members on the stairs and street, 
And even ran to Members' doors, 
To offer bribes upon their floors. 
This fact was sung by that sweet thrush 



3i 

CalPd Mr Charles Kendal Bushe ; 
And Black-bird Plunkett, too, doth add, 
The case was fifty times as bad. 

But after all, the Union Bill 
Fared, at next Session, rather ill — 
'Twas kick'd out by the Opposition, 
Who yet sign'd not Ireland's perdition. 
This happen'd in the Spring's decline 
Of seventeen hundred and ninety-nine. 

But after this right good defeat, 
The plan the rogues hit on was great. 
Some forty Members (who, from oaths, 
Or shame, refused to sell their votes) 
Were hired at last, and out they went, 
Selling their seats in Parliament. 
These seats the Castle, then, confers 
On Scotch and English officers, — 
A pack that hated th' Irish nation 
And wish'd the Papists red damnation. 
'Twas this new gang in Parliament 
That carried it in the event. 

What right, I ask, had th' Irish Senate 
(I mean the Judases then in it) 
To sell the nation's right for gold, 
As Judas did his Saviour of old. 
But this I leave— (so Crohoore hush !) 
To Saurin, Plunket. and to Bushe — 
The three great Lawyers of the day 
Oft, in the hot debates, did say, 



32 

" That th' Act of Union, though a law, 

In conscience was not worth a straw ; 

And that if boys were strong enough, 

A duty 'twas to sh:ike it off"* 

And that such hands stained with pollution 

Should not dare touch the constitution — 

And that a frantic maniac owl 

Might just as well try kill his soul, 

As Parliament, by such a Bill, 

That Constitution e'er to kill — 

Enthroned in hearts of every station 

Immortal as the Irish nation. 

The Union extortion, to great length, 

From Ireland's weakness by England's strength-" 

Their talk is clever, to be sure, 
But faith it's plain to poor Crohoore — 
Aye — plain as any church or steeple — 
The rascals should not sell the people. 
And if vile England, in her might, 
Did buy from them the people's right, 
It's stolen goods she knowingly bought : 
From robbers, who cut th' owners throat, 
Which got, I'm sure, a cut from both. 
The case, indeed, is even worse — 
The bargain is not worth a curse. 
So let her, then, make restitution 
By giving back our constitution ; 
If not — by all that's just and pure, 
We'll make her jump, says brave Crohoore. 

♦See in the Report extracts from the speeches of Saurin, Plunket, 
and Bushe. 



S3 

At this time, also, by their tricks, 
They nicely duped some Catholics ; 

For Dr. T- y and other Prelates, 

With some good laic Catholic zealots, 

Were told that lov'd Emancipation 

Would soon be granted to the Nation. 

To gain the folks of that Communion, 

Pitt often said, before the Union, 

That when 'twould pass, as sure as Heaven, 

Emancipation would be given. 

As time well prov'd, this talk so civil, 

Was like a promise from the D — 1 : 

For, when the Union pass'd by tricks, 

They laugh'd and scofT'd at Catholics. 

Though this was cruel, to be sure 

They just deserved it, says Crohoore ; 

For why did Catholic Rapperies 

With blood and bribes before their eyes — 

Aye — why did nobs of that communion 

Get up Petitions for the Union ? — * 

Or why, for hope of Emancipation, 

Thus sell the birth-right of the Nation — 

Though th' end be good — the means were bad 

And never should be used, by dad ; 

And as Divines, they were most hollow, 

To do what's bad that good might follow : 

From innocence — (I hope not malice) — 

They backed the scheme of Cornwallis — 

But Castle visits, I am sure, 

Are very dangerous, says Crohoore. 



See Plowden's History of Ireland, and also his Historical Review. 



34 

At last came on that fatal Session, 
The source of Ireland's dire oppression ; 
'Tvvas held, poor Pat, (oh, year of fate !) 
Cursed eighteen-hundred is the date. 
Both Houses, now, being brib'd with tact, 
Again came on the Union Act ; 
And, after many horrid squabbles, 
And duels and some pretty hobbles, 
The Bill through all its stages went, 
And pass'd each House of Parliament.* 
The Scotch and English officers, 
The new Lords in the House of Peers, 
Th' Irish placemen (oh, the crew !) 
That carried it by vote all through. 
As most of those, aye, long since, went 
To sit in Pluto's parliament, 
I wish them snug and warm seats 
For all their brilliant Union feats ; 
And, longer than I'd like to mention, 
May they enjoy, there, place and pension — 
And may they soon, to crown their glories 
See there, at last, the present Tories; 
For as on earth ther're not in grace, 
Go down, they ought; to hunt for place. 

On that same year the Union Bill 
Was passed in England by good will, 
And, after passing Parliament, 
It got old George's wise assent — 

* The Commons by a majority of 43— the Lord's by a majority of 
49— the last division— Commons 69, Lords 27. 



35 

And thus became (what revolution !) 
Our present sacred (! ! !) Constitution. 

Thus was it cairied (hell-born measure) 
Against the nation's will and pleasure,* 
By fraud, blood, bribes, intimidation. 
Treach'ry, perjury, of th' English nation ! 
Such reckless crimes reflect disgrace 
And shame upon the human race. 
Can any right Christian communion 
Approve of such a hell-fire Union ? 
Why any rascals of those times 
Who sanction such inhuman crimes, 
And say the Union was a blessing, 
(A pity they don't get a dressing), 
Deserve to get this holy weather 
Some sweet good touches of shoe leather. 
But any Catholic who'd say, 
" I'm for the Union at this day," 
Is, as I have a soul to save, 
A horrid fool, or d — Ps knave. 
Hurrah ! then, for old Ireland's weal ! 
Hurrah ! great Dan, for sweet Repeal ! 
And like you, Dan, your friend Crohoore, 
Well loves a chirp from Tommy Moore — 
Hem— hem— hem, 

" But, onward I the green banner rearing, 

Go, flesh every sword to the Lilt; 
On our side is virtue and Erin ; 

On theirs is the yaxon and guilt." — Moore. 
Repealers 1 fly, then, to your station, 

While all the place-hunters draw back; 
On our side is Dan aud the Nation ; 

On theirs is the vile Castle hack.— Crohoore.. 

* 700,000 Petitioned against it and only 6,000 for it. Of the latter 
many signatures were fictitious. 



36 



But now I'll sing a little bit 
'Bout the end of scheming Billy Pitt — 
He blew through Europe, near and far, 
The flame of that tremendous war 
Which loaded England with that debt, 
Th' effect of which we all feel yet. 
Though th' Allies thought to conquer France, 
Still Bonaparte did make them dance, 
And Billy, foiled by Bonaparte, 
Died cleanly of a broken heart. 
The seas of blood, the national debt, 
Cried out against his guilty breath ; 
And, when he ceased to breathe I am sure, 
Old Nick burst laughing, says Crohoore. 

But, oh, ye Muses ! sing the day 
That closed the life of Castlereagh — 
He sold his country, as I told, 
To th' English Minister for gold — 
He sold the birthright of the brave, 
And chained poor Erin down a slave — 
He made her tears flow in a flood — 
He made her weep in streams of blood- 
He mourn'd the deed— it was too late- 
Conscience told him his future state — 
Remorse — remorse — then tore his breast — 
Despair and terror banish'd rest— 
His thread of destiny being spun, 
The traitor could no longer run — 
He cut his throat and ends his life 
With that mean instrument— a knife — 
One of the two-penny butter-blades 



37 

That sent him whistling to the shades. 
Tis thus he fell— but reader note : 
He first had cut poor Ireland's throat.* 
An awful instance of the doom 
That destiny weaves in her loom 
For traitors to a noble nation, 
And conscience, and their own salvation. 
Thus did the Union's bloody elf 
Revenge his country on himself; 
And Judas like- -without sweet hope- 
He used the knife— though not the rope— 
And with this weemj, weemj, knife, 
He cut the thread of lordly life ! ! 
His epitaph (I believe boys know it) 
Is written by a fine old poet : 

•' Vendidit 
Hie auro, patriam scevumque DIOBOLUM," <fc. 

Oh ! what a pity (shade of Grattan !) 
My granny did not teach me Latin ; 
And if she did, oh ! to be sure, 
'Tis I would whistle it, says Crohoore. 
This little bit I pick'd up, still, 
From Dan the Great, at Croker's-hill, 
And for th' old women of the nation, 
I'm better give it a translation : 

Thia rogue for gold hie country sold, 

And carried the d— n Union ; 
But Kntty, note— Tie cut his throat, 

And died in no communion." 

But, as it's charitably said, 

"* In 1822, at North Cray, in Kent, the job was done.— lie was then 
Secretary for foreign affairs. 



3» 



" Do not speak evil of the dead/' 

I'll let him sleep in sweet repose — 

But where he's gone the d — 1 knows — • 

The Latin of th' above quotation 

I here apply with its translation. 

" Nihil de mortius nisi bonum " 

"When a rogue is dead let all bemoan him." 

Through life's great just, eternal author 
Has fixed his canon 'gainst self-slaughter, 
Yet Crohoore would not dare to tell, 
Whether Lords or Statesmen go to Hell. 
But still suppose, (what harm is it ?) 
That they go down there on a visit 
To some old friends that (may be) dwell 
In some fine decent part of hell. 
Suppose then that Lord Castlereagh, 
Politely rambled down that way 
To see that brilliant Union wit 
His friend and pitcher Mr. Pitt : 
Suppose the following conversation 
About th' affairs of the Irish nation ; 
Pitt, — Oh, welcome here, friend Castlereagh ! 
Pray, what's the best news of the day, 
What strange from Ireland — pray Sir tell — 
Is th' Act of Union working well ? 
But Heavens above — what's this I note — 
Lord ! what's the matter with your throat? 
Castlereagh. Oh ! fiery fiend ! wicked Pitt ! 
Is it here thou meanest to play the wit? 
'Tis you, when Premier of State — 



39 



'Tis you curs't Pitt that caused my fate. 
P. No. 'twas yourself your country sold 
To me for place and treasury gold. 
C. You— you that tempt'd me, at first, 
To sell it— be thou then accurst, 
P. But why were you th' wicked knave 
To make yourself my willing slave ? 
To mourn, Sir, is now too late — 
Pray, tell me, what is Ireland's state ? 
C. The Union is the nation's curse ; 
And daily is it getting worse— 
Her gentry gone — her strength decay'd 
An end to commerce and to trade — 
Her poor three millions — black starvation 
In almost all parts of the nation. 
The country's ruined — such a scene ! 
And no compassion has there been, 
Since Parliament left College-Green. 
P. Well, then, as you and I, God knows, 
Are th' authors of poor Ireland's woes : 
We're here, at last-sad destiny ! 
To suffer for eternity, 
C. And can it be in yonder flame ? 
P. Yes ; and I'm burning in the same. 
C. Shall Statesmen, then, no honor find- 
Shall Lords meet mercy of no kind ? 
P. No ; here a coronet of flame 
Is th' only honor for that name — 
Instead of purple or the gold 
The Lords who, 'bove their country sold. 
Will here, for ever, wear th' attire 



40 



Of Lordly robes of waving fire. 

And for the chains which we have put 

Alas ! on Erin's hand and foot, 

With chains of fire shall we be bound 

From head to foot and all around ; 

And to this prison chain'd will be — 

And that for all eternity. 

C. Alas ! shall this be our attire — 

Girt round with links and hooks of fire ? 

Curst be that day on which I sold 

My country, Pitt, to you for gold ! 

Curst be the Union — curst the man 

Who did the cursed Union plan ! 

Curst be the minister of State 

Who caused the blood of ninety-eight ! 

Curst be the bribes — curst be the men 

That aided me with tongue and pen ; 

Curst be myself— curst be the day 

That I was born— Amen— I say ! 

Both. Curst be the union— curst the hour 

That England envied Ireland's power ! 

Curst be the heads that planned the flood 

Of tears, of woes, of Irish blood ! 

Curst be ourselves,— authors of th' evil, 

But hush, hush ! here comes the Devil. 

Nick. Oh, who the Devil are those cursin 

And such most horrid thoughts here nursing ? 

Ho, ho ! good Pitt ! and Castlereagh, 

Arrah ! gent'men, how do you do to-day — 

I hope your both, both warm and well 

You're both d n welcome here to hell. 






•o 



4i 



You remember lads, when in communion 
On earth, ice three did plan the union,,— 
You did the job— the die is cast, 
You're caught, I have you lads at last. 
P. and C. 'Twas you deceived us, you that made 
Nick. Whist d— nyour souls, sure that's my trade. 
Come here, black fellows, with the chains, 
And bring here all your fiery trains, 
We'll tie those rascals pretty well 
In yonder comfortable cell, 
They'll not feel here, the frost or snow— 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, they won't I know— 
Come, come, put on the fiery chains, 
Until I thrash their hides and brains- 
Come, come, get ready Mr. Pitt — 
I'll flail you now, my clever wit— 
And though your phiz looks rather sinister, 
I'll make, you now, my own prime Minister — 
For all your plans against poor France 
By gob, my chap, I'll make you dance, 
And for the d — n big National debt 
You'll get the devil here to eat, 
And for the union, Ireland's curse, 
I'll tan your bacon ten times worse. 

At last, ha, ha, Lord Castlereagh ! 
Will get it well this blessed day : 
For all the blood of ninety-eight, 
I'll make you Secretary of State — 
And flail you well upon the pate. 
Your trashing will be pretty good 



42 

For treachery, -bribery and blood — 
And well I'll dress you, 'pon my oath, 
For cutting — fie ! your ugly throat. 
You both shall get it, in communion, 

For that d n, horrid, cursed union. 

You'll get it, sweet, for all your tricks, 

Against poor Irish Catholics. 

Come here, red devil, with the tail, 

And bring me, here my fiery flail — •. 

I have it — on my fists I'll spit 

To dress you, Castlereagh and Pitt. 

Now, like yon parsons for the tithes, 

I'll flail you belly, back and sides, 

And tan, like theirs, your Orange hides. 

But what a murder ! (he's so manly) 

I have not, now, one belt at Stanley — 

'Tis all I'd ask, upon my oath, 

To have him chain'd here, with you both, 

For such three rogues of any station 

Gog ! never curs'd the Irish nation. 

But he is sure to come this way, 
When I will have him take his pay, 
It's then I'll have you, trio, bound, 
In fiery chains, your bodies 'round, 
And Oscar brave, I will on call, 
Who has the heaviest flail of all ; 
He is the only Irishman, 
Now, in my regions, under ban, 
Save you, who sold the Irish nation, 
And now, are suffering dire damnation, 



43 

Although he got a chance to part us, 

And leave the realms thro' Patricus, 

Yet, before the prescribed time, 

He had not crossed the threshold line ; 

So he is with us — never winched — 

The mightiest man on earth that lived ; 

I'll let him know that you are thieves, 

And Ireland's cursed enemies ; 

Woe ! then, the three, such pond'rous strokes, 

As he will deal upon your bones, 

Were never heard the world o'er, 

E'en hell itself, with fear will roar. 

All others from that starving nation, 
Instrumental in her devastation, 
Are sure to find a place in hell, 
So, I will place them in this cell, 
In order that the Fenian bold 
Would have them all within his hold, 
To revenge his country's degradation, 
On those hell-birds of damnation. 
When Ireland gains this grand Repeal, 
Whether by agitation, or by steel, 
There may be a chance, he'd use you manly, 
So good bye now, till down comes Stanley. 



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